The flowers died on Monday.
She noticed it before she even got out of bed. The calla lilies on her bedside table, once tall and proud and impossibly white, had begun to droop at their stems. The petals, soft and waxy when he first placed them in her hands, now curled inward like they were folding into themselves. Giving up, quietly.
He had given them to her just a fortnight ago, for their third wedding anniversary.
She remembered the way he held them out to her, a little sheepish, a little proud. Calla lilies, she never thought she would grow a preference for any particular flowers. They are all the same to her. But his first bouquet for her was Calla lilies, it became her favourite since.
~~~
She had met him four years ago, though "met" felt like too strong a word for what it was.
She was at a conference. One of those multi-day affairs held at a famous hotel, the kind with marble floors and a lobby that echoed. He was there for a meeting, unrelated entirely, just passing through the same stretch of corridor at the same time. Their eyes caught for a second, maybe two. A nod. A small smile. The kind you offer a stranger when eye contact goes on just a beat too long. Then they both walked on.
She did not think anything of it. Why would she?
Who knew, five months later, they would be destined to meet again.
It was a coffee shop she had never stepped foot in before, not until that day. But it was his usual place. He saw her first. She was at the counter, busy ordering, completely in her own world. He walked over and introduced himself. There was a flash of something on her face, a flicker of recognition, before it all clicked into place. She had seen him before. Many months ago, in a hotel corridor. She had almost forgotten he existed.
They made small talk. Exchanged contacts. The rest was history.
~~~
She never quite understood how people could marry someone after knowing them so briefly. It always seemed reckless to her, a little foolish. But after meeting him, she understood. Everything just made sense. He was everything she had wanted, everything she had needed, and she understood then why she'd had to wait so many years. Why she had to go through so many heartbreaks. The broken roads were only ever leading her to him.
She was 33 when they got married.
They were not rushing to have children. But after a year of marriage, it was still nothing. Her period came each month like clockwork. Month after month, she bled. Her husband never once pressured her, never questioned why it had not happened yet. He held her when she was down. He would take one glance at her and already know. He would run her a bath, cook her favourite meals, make sure she was comfortable. He is an angel, she thought. How could she have gotten so lucky?
Two years in, still nothing. He seemed content with just the two of them, but she was not. Not completely. She dreamed of a family. A few children of their own. She wanted that lineage, of him, carried forward. Despite all of it, he remained supportive and loving. He never once made her feel like she was lacking. In his eyes, she was perfect.
Before their third anniversary, they decided to try for IVF. She had brought it up, and he agreed without hesitation. They celebrated the anniversary with a renewed hope between them. That someday, there would no longer be just the two of them. They would become three, and then four, and maybe five. Who knows. She could not stop smiling that whole day when he agreed.
[to be continued]
